


Greensleeves

by Silent_So_Long



Series: otpprompts [55]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Dates, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Parlors, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 05:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5899354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silent_So_Long/pseuds/Silent_So_Long
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard, Paul and an ice cream van. (AU fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Greensleeves

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the following prompt posted upon tumblr’s otpprompts snagged and written whilst I still was a member of tumblr; [ Imagine Muse A owns an ice cream truck and muse B is a die-hard fan and comes every time the truck passes their house.](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/117564046416/imagine-muse-a-owns-an-ice-cream-truck-and-muse-b)  
> I fear I'm in danger of repeating myself by saying 'whilst I still was a member of tumblr' and things like that (sorry!) - I don't want to inadvertantly give the impression that I've returned to tumblr when I haven't (and neither am I likely to!). I just want to post my massive backlog of old stories still lurking on my hard drive; this one, for instance, is actually over six months old by now and I've only just gotten around to posting it. (!!!!) 
> 
> This fic is also partially inspired by the ice cream van that often drives past my house every weekend during the summer months; it plays Greensleeves as its own personal little jingle, hence the title.
> 
> Considering I am English, I will refer to 'ice cream trucks' as 'ice cream vans' and ‘sidewalks’ as ‘pavements’ throughout the story, as that’s what we bloody well call them ’ere in England, I tell thee. Thought I'd clear up my inherent English-isms. 
> 
> Several of the things mentioned throughout the fic are real; Supamolly, the punk club that Richard and Paul visit on their first date, can be found in Friedrichshain. Spaghettieis and Berliner Kindl are also real, as is the VW camper van converted into an ice cream van. VW produced the vans during the ‘60’s and the modifications are an original factory conversion.

[ ](http://s1368.photobucket.com/user/paulchen2/media/sweets%20and%20treats%20V2%20BEFUNKY_zpsqp8vxvvf.jpg.html)

The day was a hot one, as Richard lounged beneath the shadow of the house he’d recently moved into. The house itself was an old build, situated on a sprawling estate on the edge of Berlin, but a new purchase for Richard himself, and he still was getting used to it after spending so long in various flats across the breadth and length of Berlin proper. Whilst he thought that he liked the change in domiciliary arrangements, he still had, as yet, to get used to it and to work out all the little kinks that such a property always invited. The lawn was the hardest task in which to become accustomed to; in all of his flats, he’d often had nothing more to look after than a small garden box nestled coomfortably upon the balcony, that often held a various array of flowers or herbs. All plants had ended up suffering a grisly death beneath rain and beneath sun, because Richard constantly to forgot to feed and water them. Once he thought he’d been bequeathed a miniature crop of marijuana; that, at least, he’d tried to look after, albeit unsuccessfully in the end. 

 

In his hand, he held a bottle of cold beer, his first of the afternoon since stepping out into the garden; he surveyed the expanse of lawn, and decided that he should just get on with mowing it; it didn’t look as though he could put it off any longer. He sighed, and finished off the last of his beer, before dropping the used and sadly empty bottle in the bin. He approached the mower with some wariness, dusting imaginary dust particles from his palms as he did so; he glanced up when he heard the sound of a bright jingle approaching from somewhere far in the distance. 

 

Richard couldn’t help but feel some surprise at the unexpected sound and frowned; he wondered if he really was hearing what he thought he was hearing. It almost sounded as though it was an ice cream van, yet he thought that that was an impossibility; he hadn’t thought that those kind of things existed any more, and were relics of a more innocent time and his childhood, not something that still lurked and haunted the outskirts of Berlin. 

 

In time, he saw the ice cream van slowly drive into view and Richard was surprised to find that it was a converted VW campervan; the side windows had been replaced by a serving hatch, with an awning that could be rolled out as a make-shift shelter. Upon the side was painted a sign, featuring cute scoops of ice cream and what Richard assumed must be the name of the company - Sweets and Treats. Whilst the van was obviously old, easily a throwback from the sixties, the paint job looked just fresh enough to still be new, possibly a few days old. Richard watched as the ice cream van slowed to a stop by the pavement, hailed by a gaggle of excited children, all clamouring for a mess of ice cream that would have sunk a ship. On impulse, Richard dug in his pocket, hoping that he might have change enough to buy himself an ice cream, just as much for mere nostalgia’s sake as needing to soothe his still parched throat. 

 

He grinned, surprised at his own relieved excitement when he realised that he had enough to buy at least one ice cream, before he approached the van, waiting with some vague impatience when the children seemed incapable of doing anything more than being utterly indecisive and loud. He stepped forward when they finally made their choice, paid and moved away, still shouting and screaming to the high heavens. 

 

His gaze followed the moving forms of the children with some irritation as their noise continued to shatter the prior peace of the afternoon; Richard turned back when he heard a polite and enquiring cough emanating from nearby. He found his gaze caught by a pair of kind, but tired, misty grey-blue eyes peering back at him from within the VW; the man inside, when Richard checked, had a face as attractive as his eyes and a smile that was twice as nice. 

 

“Hi, how may I help you today?” the man inside asked, and Richard smiled, surprised to be faced with someone who possessed a deep, Berliner accent.

 

Why he was surprised at that he wasn’t entirely sure; he supposed that he’d been expecting a different accent, perhaps Bavarian, or even Swiss. 

 

“Um,” Richard said, before he mentally kicked himself for a smooth way of opening the conversation. 

 

He smiled and pretended to be perusing the menu, and the choices of ice cream displayed within.

 

“Can I have the Spaghettieis, d’you think?” he asked, finally making a decision. 

 

“I don‘t know; can you?” the man replied, with a pleasant laugh, which sent deep crinkles into the skin around his eyes. “You certainly may, however.” 

 

“Thank you,” Richard said, with a laugh of his own.

 

He watched with interest as the man set to work at constructing his chosen dessert, surprisingly strong-looking hands making the movements look deft and simple; Richard swallowed when he realized just how nice a pair of hands the other man had, with fingers that looked strong and capable. Richard had sudden visions rising unbidden into his mind of those hands, those fingers running over and caressing his body, wringing deep and desperate moans from Richard's chest. He caught the other man suddenly grinning at him from the confines of the van as he poured a liberal dose of strawberry sauce over the vanilla ice cream, which had been squeezed out to emulate the long strands of spaghetti.

 

“Have you lived here long?” the man asked. “I don’t think I've seen you here before.” 

 

“No, I don’t expect you would have,” Richard said, with a smile that was equal parts amusement and embarrassment. “I moved in at the beginning of the week.”

 

“Ah,” the man nodded, as though that explained everything and Richard supposed that it did. “I would have remembered seeing you about, even if you’d not bought anything from me.” 

 

“Ah?” Richard asked, whilst inwardly cursing himself for awkward noises made.

 

He wondered then if the other man was merely passing an observational comment or whether he was genuinely chatting him up. Richard was hoping for the latter; he couldn’t deny that the man facing him was incredibly nice-looking. 

 

“So, is there anything else I can do for you today?” the man asked, with an amused light in his eyes.

 

Richard knew than that there was a lot that the man could do for and to him, yet it was not something that was destined for public consumption, and should be better reserved for the privacy of a bedroom. He swallowed slightly, and cleared his throat. 

 

“Um, I think that’s it for today, thank you,” Richard said, a little awkwardly. 

 

“Okay, super. I’ll be around again next week, if you want more,” the other man said. “I can assure you, I sell the best ice cream you’ll ever find in this part of Berlin.”

 

“I have no doubt of that,” Richard replied, with a smile.

 

The ice cream did look particularly delicious, he had to admit. The other man grinned and nodded; Richard knew that there was little more that he could say to that, so he had to step away, to allow the person behind him in the queue to take his place and order. He walked away, and glanced back; he was surprised to find that the man in the ice cream van was still staring at him, a certain appreciative yet wistful expression caught in his gaze. Richard immediately grinned, a sudden stupid surge of hope rising in his chest at that. Again, he found himself hoping that all that the man had said had been flirting and not anything else.

:::

The following week, Richard was in the front garden again, pushing his recalcitrant lawn mower over the grass and the twisting weeds that had decided to make his front lawn their home. His mower was close to giving up the ghost once again, engine coughing and spluttering ominously, whilst occasionally spitting out a cloud of furious black smoke. Richard cursed it, mentally berating himself for not buying a new one earlier in the week when he’d had the chance; the local home improvements store had had one on sale at a decent price, yet Richard had not had his car with him that day and the mower would have been difficult to transport on the bus.

 

He made a mental note to return to the store later that afternoon, to buy the mower if it still happened to be available; he knew that it would be just his luck if the thing had been sold to someone else. The mower sputtered, coughed, and spewed a series of dark black puffs of smoke before the engine finally died. Richard was still spewing insults at the useless piece of machinery when he heard the familiar sound of an ice cream van spiraling through the air. He looked up when the van stopped nearby; he was surprised that the man driving it actually got out to approach him, a curious expression upon his cute face. Richard smiled despite his still inherent annoyance; he recognised the attractive man he'd bought the Spaghettieis from the previous weekend. 

 

“Having trouble?” the ice cream man asked, as he pointed at the lawn mower. 

 

“You could say that,” Richard replied, glumly.

 

Even though his first impression was perhaps to grump at the other man, he decided against it at the last minute; after all it was no one’s fault that his stupid mower wouldn’t behave itself. 

 

“Want me to take a look? I’m good with my hands,” the man said, even as he knelt beside the mower. 

 

Richard suddenly had visions again of the cute man's hands travelling over his body, caressing him, touching him, running over his cock with pleasurable strokes. He swallowed and tried to distract himself with mundane thoughts, of tax returns and broken lawn mowers.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Richard said, as a way of further distracting himself, even as the man peered at the mower’s engine curiously. 

 

“I want to,” the man said, with a grin that was as cheerful as it was nice. “Have you got any tools?” 

 

Richard nodded and made his way to the shed, where he pulled his toolbox out of its jumbled depths; he returned to the man’s side within seconds whereupon his new-found friend set to work with fiddling with the mower‘s engine. Richard wasn’t quite sure what had been done to it, yet the recalcitrant engine coughed into wheezing life after a mere few minutes of tinkering on the other man’s behalf. The man nodded, as he turned the mower off, an expression of satisfaction upon his face. 

 

“There you are; should be good to go for a while,” he said. “Might want to invest in a new one though before long. Or at least get some new spark plugs. The ones you have are shit, if you don‘t mind me saying.”

 

“I don’t mind, I guess and I will do. Thanks,” Richard said, delighted with the speed and efficiency of the other man’s handiwork. “What do I owe you?”

 

“For the service? Nothing,” the man said, with a grin that Richard once again thought was nice. “Couldn’t leave you standing there looking all pathetic, when I knew I could help.” 

 

“At least let me buy you something. A drink. An ice cream. Anything,” Richard said. 

 

He didn't like feeling indebted to people, and the more time spent with the man in the van would be a pleasure. 

 

“I think I see enough ice cream with my day job,” the man laughed. “A drink sounds nice though.”

 

“Good. Are you free tonight? I would offer you a beer now, but I don’t think it wise when you’re driving,” Richard said, as he pointed at the van.

 

“Perhaps not,” the other man said, before a regretful expression crossed over his face. “I might have to take a rain-check on that drink though.”

 

“Oh?” Richard asked, and he tried not to show his disappointment. 

 

He felt that disappointment, keenly, however, more keenly than he would have at first thought. He tried not to show it, but he noticed a sad look crossing the other man’s face at that. 

 

“I’m going on holiday for a fortnight. I’ll be packing my suitcases tonight. I leave tomorrow,” he explained, even though he didn’t really owe Richard an explanation. 

 

Richard supposed that the other man didn’t owe him anything at all, come to that; after all, they were still relative strangers. He didn’t even know the man’s name. He watched as the ice cream man stood, with a vague groan, and stepped a little too closely into Richard’s personal space with that one movement. It didn’t look accidental to Richard’s eyes. Richard, however, didn’t move away; then again, neither did his new-found friend. Richard smiled and tried to think of something to say.

 

“Going anywhere nice?” he asked. “On your holiday?”

 

“Russia,” the man replied, suddenly looked embarrassed. “Moscow, specifically. I know it’s not the usual place to go on holiday, but, I suppose you could say I have family ties there. And I don’t really need to explain a thing to you, I know, seeing as we haven’t even been formally introduced yet.”

 

Richard had to laugh at the synchronicity of their thoughts; he reached out a hand and smiled when the other man took it. He was surprised at how firm the man’s grip was, and how warm his flesh felt against his own. The handshake lasted longer than it should have, as though neither party wished to relinquish the hold, but it didn’t last long enough to become uncomfortable or awkward. Instead, to Richard, it felt nice, effortless, as though the other man’s hand belonged in his own. The other man was grinning at him, eyes crinkling at the corners in a pleasant way, before he cleared his throat.

 

“So, anyway, I’m Paul,” the man said. “Paul Landers. And you?”

 

“Definitely not Paul Landers,” Richard said, with a wry grin at the newly introduced Paul. 

 

He was glad that Paul laughed at that, a genuine laugh that seemed forced out by surprise and genuine mirth.

 

“Name’s Richard,” Richard expanded, easily. “Richard Kruspe.”

 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Richard Kruspe,” Paul said, and it sounded as though he meant it. 

 

“Same to you,” Richard replied, and he felt the faint beginnings of awkwardness at that. “Anyway, I’d better let you get back to your van. It looks as though you’ve gotten yourself some awkward customers there.”

 

Paul looked surprised at that, as though he’d momentarily forgotten that he was the purveyor of ice creams; he twisted around and swore beneath his breath when he saw that Richard was right. A queue had begun to form at the serving hatch of the ice cream van, and by the looks of things, the waiting customers had started to grow a little fractious and impatient. 

 

“Thanks, Richard,” Paul said. “You’re right. I had best get back to serving. You wouldn’t want anything would you? Make my afternoon more pleasant?” 

 

“Um? Okay,” Richard replied, uncertain as to whether he’d just been complimented or not. 

 

Paul grinned again and led the way back to the van. Richard hopped onto the end of the queue, to avoid the undoubted and expected death glares he would have received from the impatient customers, if he’d broken protocol and breached politeness by jumping ahead. He knew that just because he was a little friendly with the vendor, didn’t mean to say that he had privilege over anyone else. 

 

Luckily for Richard, no one else joined the queue behind him, which allowed him to chat to Paul over his small portion of Spaghettieis; Paul proved to be an interesting conversationalist, and had more depth than his initial sunny smile would have led Richard to believe. Richard found that he enjoyed the other man’s company, more than he’d enjoyed anyone’s company for a long time, in fact, and words came easily between them. In time, Paul checked his watch and sighed.

 

“Better get the van back to the shop, or I’ll get the sack,” he said, with a sigh and roll of his eyes that Richard guessed was put on solely for him. “Nice talking to you, Richard. See you in three weeks.”

 

“Yeah, be seeing you,” Richard replied, but he couldn’t help but feel the sudden feeling of doom weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

 

He doubted that Paul would even remember who he was in three weeks, head undoubtedly turned by a bevy of beautiful Russian women in the meantime, or handsome Russian men, if Paul proved to be batting for the same team as Richard did. Richard hoped that he hadn’t read the situation wrong and that Paul really was flirting with him. 

 

He watched Paul drive away, and had to grin when he saw one hand wave to him out of the driver’s side window; Richard barely had enough time to return the wave before Paul turned the corner and drove away. 

 

center>:::

 

Three weeks passed, faster than Richard would have expected; he’d taken a job at the local school, teaching music. Whilst the pay was reasonable, and most of the students pleasant and attentive, he still came home from work worn and drained, as though he’d been spending the entire time in a factory, doing heavy maintenance work. The neighbours proved to be as little trouble as his new job, although the majority of them kept to themselves and talked to him little. Richard found that that didn’t bother him very much; it would have been far worse if he’d been saddled with a bunch of nosy neighbours that had nothing better to do than to spy on him and ask too many questions, or worse, own a whole passel of noisy twinks and their associated horde of equally noisy dogs.

 

He was sitting at his kitchen table, with the door wide open to let in some of the fresh air, grading some homework, when he suddenly heard the familiar sound of Greensleeves wafting faintly in through the door. Richard checked his watch, surprised that it was late afternoon already and got out of his seat with a groan of stiff muscles and cramped legs. He made his way through the back door and around the side of the building.

 

He found that the converted camper van was just the same as it had been three weeks previously and that Paul, while still smiling and happy, looked a little sadder that day. Richard wondered at that, as he took his place in the queue; his curiosity over the other man’s sad look was soon replaced by a sudden sharp worry, and fear that Paul would not even remember who he was, or worse, had forgotten his name in the time that he’d been away. His fears proved groundless however, for Paul, when he saw him, gave him a grin of pleased recognition and the pleasure, on Paul’s part, looked genuine.

 

“Hallo, well if it isn’t Richard Kruspe, in the flesh,” Paul said. 

 

“It is indeed,” Richard replied, with a responding grin that he hoped wasn’t tempered with visible relief. “How was your holiday, Paul?”

 

Paul shrugged and grimaced, before he attempted a grin for Richard’s benefit.

 

“Nice, but always a wrench to leave Russia. I’ll get over it, in time,.” he said, with a confidence that seemed borne of long repetition. “I always do. How’s Berlin been?”

 

“Hot,” Richard replied, immediately. “Boring.”

 

“Just the same as ever, then,” Paul observed, with a dry snort. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your usual, then, Richard?” 

 

Richard had to think about that; he wasn’t even aware that he even had a usual.

 

“Spaghettieis?” Paul prompted, patiently. “Unless you want something else? I can assure you that the vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce is very good. It’s homemade, and uses real vanilla pods, none of that crappy generic essence stuff.” 

 

“Oh? Sounds good to me,” Richard said, in surprise. 

 

Paul nodded and scooped a generous portion into a small plastic bowl for Richard; Richard couldn’t help but notice that the portion he’d received was considerably larger than Paul had given anyone else. Paul scooped a portion out for himself, before he came out of the van to join Richard outside; they sat on the edge of the curb like schoolchildren as they spooned cool ice cream into their mouths whilst they talked. Paul was just as good company as he had been before his holiday and regaled Richard with interesting stories of his time in Moscow. 

 

Richard was so engrossed in Paul’s tale-telling that he’d quite forgotten about the date they’d set between them for beer, and didn’t remember it until long after Paul had driven away. He cursed himself for his forgetfulness, before he laughed ruefully at his own hopeful folly. He doubted that Paul would even be interested in dating someone like him anyway.

:::

Paul returned the following week, and the week after that. Richard went out to see him every time, more for the chance to see and talk to Paul than through any real need to buy ice cream. Paul always seemed genuinely glad to see him and always stepped out of his van to spend a little time chatting amicably with Richard.

 

Paul, in time, began asking Richard about his job, and although Richard couldn’t think of anything more boring than talking about teaching, Paul seemed genuinely interested and always gave Richard his full attention, even when Richard felt as though he’d done nothing more than complain about his students or about his co-workers. Even when the school holidays arrived, and Richard little to say, Paul asked questions about musical instruments; Richard was glad that he could speak with some authority about guitars, as that was the instrument that Richard himself could play and Paul seemed the most interested in. 

 

Their conversations grew warmer, and Richard couldn’t help but feel as though their friendship was strengthening over time; six weeks had passed and it showed no sign of abating or growing stale. He even learned that Paul preferred to be called by his nickname, Paulchen, yet Richard felt oddly shy of using it, as though he hadn't quite yet earned the right to be so intimate.

 

One day, when it came to almost the end of August, Paul drew up near to Richard’s house again; his face was grave and Richard wondered what had happened. 

 

“Hallo,” Paul said, a little glumly, as Richard approached. 

 

“Hallo, yourself,” Richard replied, with a smile. “Are you okay?” 

 

“I suppose,” Paul said, with a shrug.

 

He fell silent then and Richard wondered if perhaps Paul was not going to tell him what was wrong. Then he saw the other man taking a deep breath, eyes flickering up to meet those of Richard, before he spoke. 

 

“I’m not going to be driving the van around for much longer,” Paul said, before his explanation halted roughly and his gaze dropped to the ground.

 

“Oh? Are you leaving?” Richard couldn’t help but ask, disappointment flooding through him and making his limbs feel heavy with the intensity of it.

 

“No,” Paul said, with sudden alarm turning his voice choppy and spiky, eyes darting up again to meet Richard’s. “I meant taking the van out. I won’t be taking the van out for much longer.” 

 

“Oh,” Richard said, and began to frown.

 

He wanted to ask what Paul was going to do in the meantime, but didn’t know how to voice his question without potentially sounding like a crazy stalker. Luckily, Paul rescued him from any awkwardness by continuing to speak. 

 

“I’ll be in the shop until about October, then we’ll be switching to hot foods, for the winter months. Ice cream doesn’t sell, as you can imagine,” Paul said, with a small and embarrassed laugh.

 

“I bet,” Richard replied, with a brave attempt at a smile. “I suppose I'll have to make my way to your store for my ice cream fix. Where can I find you?” 

 

“Alexanderplatz,” Paul told him, as he pointed to the sign displayed upon the van. “Same name as the van.” 

 

“Okay,” Richard replied. “Well, I hope to see you in there, then?” 

 

Paul nodded, but Richard could still detect a frisson of nervousness about the other man, even unhappiness. 

 

“You know, we never did have that beer,” Paul pointed out, finally.

 

“Beer?” Richard accused and for one horrible moment, he couldn't remember what Paul was even talking about.

 

Then memories of a hot day and a recalcitrant lawn mower flooded back into his mind and he laughed.

 

“That’s right; as payment for the fixed lawn mower. We never did,” he agreed.

 

Paul shot him a smile, that was relieved and worried all in one. 

 

“I was just wondering, if you’re interested, if you’re free that is, if you’d still like that beer?” Paul asked. “Maybe next week some time?” 

 

“Sure, I can make next week,” Richard said, with a shrug. “Whatever day’s best for you.” 

 

“Wednesday?” Paul asked, hopefully. 

 

“Sure,” Richard agreed. 

 

“Good,” Paul said. “I hope I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes by asking you out?” 

 

Richard blinked at him for a few moments, long enough for Paul to suddenly flush and look uncomfortable.

 

“Shit, you’ve got a boyfriend, already. Or girlfriend,” Paul said, and his iscomfort grew into visible embarrassment. “Shit. Forget I asked.” 

 

“Is this a date?” Richard asked, hope warming his voice. “Not just a friendly beer?”

 

“It was supposed to be,” Paul admitted, with a sad little grimace. “A date, I mean. But I don’t want to intrude if you already have someone.” 

 

“No,” Richard replied. “I don’t have a boyfriend, right now.” 

 

“Boyfriend,” Paul repeated, with a relieved sigh. “Am I glad you said boyfriend! It would have been just my luck if I‘d just tried to hit upon a straight guy.”

 

Richard laughed at that, before he tilted a wink and a grin in Paul’s direction.

 

“I’ve never been straight, Paul,” Richard told him. 

 

“Me neither,” Paul replied, with a laugh. “So Wednesday it is, then?”

 

“Wednesday it is,” Richard agreed, with a nod.

 

“D’you know where Supamolly is?” Paul asked. 

 

“The punk bar on Jessner Straße? Yeah, I know it,” Richard replied. with a look of surprise.

 

He hadn’t expected Paul to be the type of man who was into punk music, but Paul was grinning wildly at him. 

 

“I used to go there all the time, at one point,” Paul explained. “That was before the South American musicians started performing more there though.” 

 

“Oh?” Richard asked, with a frown. 

 

“Yeah, but there still are a few good hardcore bands turning up every now and again,” Paul told him, with a nod. “What’s up? You look surprised.”

 

“You don’t look the type to like punk music,” Richard confessed with an embarrassed laugh. 

 

“And yet you know exactly where it is, yourself,” Paul said, as he narrowed his eyes shrewdly at Richard. “Not bad for a music teacher.” 

 

“Touche,” Richard said, as he lifted his hands in a repenting gesture. “Fair enough; I’m a closet punk fan as much as you seemingly are.” 

 

Paul grinned at that, before he tilted his head on one side, musingly.

 

“Is seven o‘clock a good time for you?” Paul asked.

 

“Sounds good to me,” Richard agreed, easily. 

 

Paul grinned and nodded, before he offered Richard some ice cream on the house. He came out of the van long enough to sit with Richard upon the pavement again, basking in the August sun, arms and thighs nestled closely together companionably whilst they ate and chatted. Richard didn’t move away; he was glad to note that Paul didn’t either and he smiled every time that Paul moved, and the other man’s hand accidentally brushed against Richard’s hand or arm. Richard didn’t think the contact was as accidental as Paul had made it seem; it almost felt to him as though the other man was constantly checking to see whether he was real. 

 

In time, Paul stood reluctantly and collected the soiled dish from Richard’s hand to throw it in the van’s rubbish bin. Richard was standing by the time that Paul returned; on impulse, Richard reached out and took Paul’s hand in his own; whilst Paul looked surprised, he didn’t move away nor try to relinquish his fingers from Richard's grasp. Richard smiled and rubbed his thumb across Paul's knuckles before he sighed. 

 

“See you next Wednesday, then, Paulchen,“ he said quietly. 

 

Paul grinned at hearing Richard using his nickname for the first time. It seemed a prominent step in their relationship and suddenly, Richard was grinning too.

:::

The following Wednesday, Richard waited outside Supamolly, fearful that Paul was not going to turn up at all. Paul was already five minutes late, and when the other man finally arrived, puffing, blowing and distinctly red-faced, Richard couldn’t stop the surge of relief that flowed through his body.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Paul said. “I was stuck in traffic and then I couldn’t find a parking space.” 

 

Richard laughed at that, before he shrugged.

 

“That’s okay; it’s understandable,” he said. “It’s a busy night, tonight.” 

 

He didn’t speak of his worry that Paul might not have bothered arriving at all, yet his unspoken fears seemed to be understood by Paul anyway; Paul gave him a sheepish look, before Richard sighed and shepherded the other man silently inside. Richard smiled as Paul chose a shadowed spot near the back of the bar, which afforded them a little privacy in the darkness. Paul bobbed away to order the beer, returning a few moments later carrying two bottles of perfectly chilled Berliner Kindl. He settled against the wall beside Richard and handed him one of the bottles.

 

Richard couldn’t remember laughing quite so much as he did that night with Paul, and he even had the satisfaction of making Paul laugh in turn by regaling him of stories of students being particularly dense. Their conversation was unaffected, and easy and Richard couldn’t help but grin whenever he glanced at Paul chattering happily away beside him. 

 

Finally, it came time for them to leave and they took a slow walk back to where Paul had parked his car; Richard had parked in the opposite direction from Paul, yet still he kept the other man company, without complaint. He wanted to prolong the night for as long as he could.

 

“So, d’you wanna do this again, some time?” Paul asked, and Richard couldn’t help but notice the hope that had settled in the other man’s eyes at that.

 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Richard replied, with a nod and easy smile. “Meet you here, same time next week?”

 

“Okay, sounds good,” Paul said, with a relieved, and happy, grin. “And don’t forget you said you were going to visit me in the shop some time. I’ll be waiting for you.”

 

“Will you, now?” Richard asked, with an easy laugh.

 

Paul merely grinned up at him but didn't speak further. Instead, he continued staring at Richard, musingly, almost hopefully; Richard smiled, and noted the way that Paul’s gaze tracked from Richard’s eyes to his mouth and stayed there. Richard’s smile grew wider and he took the not so subtle hint; he leant in and pressed awkward lips against Paul’s in a gentle kiss. Paul responded easily, one hand rising to rest upon the back of Richard’s neck. Richard made an appreciative noise at the contact; Paul, it turned out, was a good kisser, mouth warm and pliant and eager against his own. He eased away, and smiled when Paul complained and closed the distance between them again. That time, he let Paul lead the kiss, allowed him to deepen it, with hands propped on Paul’s waist. Paul was the one to break away that time, eyes closed as he rested his forehead against Richard’s, breath tickling across Richard’s kiss-dampened lips. 

 

“Jesus, how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Paul murmured in the space left between them.

 

“Hmm, me too,” Richard replied, with a smile.

 

“You wanted to kiss yourself?” Paul asked, eyes flickering up and Richard saw the teasing grin held deep within them, even at close range.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Paul,” Richard said. “That’s impossible, anyway.”

 

“Not if you have a mirror,” Paul pointed out.

 

“So you’re admitting you've tried it,” Richard said, effectively turning the tables back on Paul again.

 

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Paul asked, but Richard was glad to see that the laughter remained in his eyes. “I’m gonna kiss you again just to shut you up.”

 

“Is that the only reason?” Richard asked, affecting disappointment.

 

“No, as you know full well,” Paul said, before he made good on his earlier combined promise and threat.

 

Richard lost himself to that kiss, felt Paul’s tongue slide against his own and he played inside the other man’s mouth eagerly. In time, Paul eased away, smiled and rested his head against Richard's shoulder. 

 

“I suppose we’d both best go home, huh?” he asked, with a rueful smile up at Richard. “We can’t spend the rest of the night standing here and kissing. Well, we could, but it would make no viable sense, as we both need sleep.”

 

Richard laughed at that and nodded, but he was reluctant to let go of Paul’s body now that it was pressed against him. Still, he managed to step away, hands trailing against Paul’s sides to prolong contact for as long as he could. Paul noticed and laughed, before he reached out to lay one hand against Richard’s broad chest. 

 

“We have plenty of time for that,” he said, as he tipped Richard a wink. 

 

“Yeah, we do,” Richard said, feeling a little surprised that Paul had said that.

 

It seemed as though the other man was secretly hopeful that their relationship would extend for far longer than a date or two; whilst that could have been seen as presumptuous by some, Richard found some hope in it, that Paul was willing to give it a shot. Richard was hoping for the same thing; he knew that it was getting far too late in life to be messing around any more. He hoped that perhaps Paul might be the one, yet he knew that it was far too early to pin any such hopes on that. 

 

“Well, until next week, then,” Paul said. “You know where to find me in the meantime.” 

 

“Yeah,” Richard said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

 

Paul nodded and made his goodbyes, before he slipped behind the wheel of his car. Richard waited until he’d seen that the other man had driven away safely before he turned and made his way back across town to where he had parked.

:::

“Hallo, Richard! You found the shop,” Paul said, as soon as he saw Richard winnow through the crowds thronging the floor of the ice cream parlour.

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t too hard to find,” Richard replied, with a brief smile and a nod. 

 

That much, at least, was true; despite the fact that Richard had spent many an afternoon in the Alex, he couldn’t quite remember seeing the ice cream parlour before. Now that he had a reason to look for it, he found that it wasn’t too hard to find; the sign bearing the legend ‘Sweets and Treats’ hung outside the shop, with a colour scheme that matched the ice cream van. 

 

“Come and sit down with me for a bit,” Paul said, even as he scooped a large portion of Spaghettieis for Richard and himself.

 

Richard nodded and silently waited until Paul came out from behind the counter, to choose a moderately private table by the side of the room. He plonked Richard's bowl in front of his place before taking the other side of the small table. 

 

“So, how’s things?” Paul asked.

 

“Busy,” Richard said, with a shrug. “School’s starting up again in a few days, so I have to get back to the old grindstone again.”

 

“Oh,” Paul said, with a wrinkle of his nose as he spooned a great and dripping mouthful between his lips. “I must say I wouldn't have expected you to be a teacher. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.” 

 

Richard laughed in sudden surprise, before he had to ask the inevitable.

 

“I don’t mind; what do you think I look like, though?” he asked. 

 

“Nah, you'll think I’m trying to hit on you or something,” Paul said, dropping his gaze to his bowl of Spaghettieis in embarrassment, yet Richard still caught his smile anyway. 

 

“You’ve already done that, Paul, and I hardly repelled you, did I?” Richard pointed out.

 

Paul laughed at that, before he gave him a conceding nod. 

 

“Fair enough. Okay, I thought you looked more like a model or musician,” he said. “Or perhaps an actor.” 

 

“A model, a musician or an actor, huh?” Richard asked, in some amusement as he finally spooned some of the ice cream into his own mouth.

 

“You’re certainly handsome enough,” Paul pointed out, before he flushed  
slightly in awkward embarrassment.

 

“Thanks, I guess; you’re not so bad yourself,” Richard said, with a smile.

 

He was glad that Paul at least laughed at that and the awkwardness of the moment passed. The rest of their time together passed swiftly; conversation flowed as easily as it ever did and Richard found that he left with a smile upon his face. He cast one glance over his shoulder before the door to the ice cream parlour closed behind him and saw that Paul was watching him, with a wistful look in his eye. Richard gave him a little wave and smiled when Paul returned the wave with a grin.

:::

Their date the following week passed as pleasurably as the first had and the couple agreed to meet up another time. Their dates soon became a regular fixture, and gave Richard something to look forward to each week in the long watches whilst spent teaching.

 

The months passed and autumn soon segued into winter, and as Paul had said in the summer, the ice cream parlour soon packed away its array of ice creams and began selling hot baked goods instead, such as cakes and pastries and sweet pies. Richard particularly enjoyed their apple strudel and doughnuts, popping by often, both to sample their sweets, and to see Paul. 

 

“Sometimes, I think you’re in here for the food, and not actually for me,” Paul commented one day as he watched Richard consume a slice of hot apple strudel with obvious and loud enjoyment. 

 

“You‘re too hard on yourself sometimes, Paul. You know I love you,” Richard said, before he looked away in sudden embarrassment.

 

It was the first time he’d ever said that he loved Paul and when he glanced back at the other man, he saw that Paul was touched by Richard’s statement. Richard smiled, but he steadfastly refused to take back what he’d said, when he knew that he'd meant it.

 

“I love you, too, Reesh,” Paul said, voice muted, almost gentle as he reached forward to lay one hand upon Richard's forearm. 

 

Richard momentarily left the remainder of his strudel and stood, so that he could lean across the table and press a spicy, fruity flavoured kiss against Paul’s mouth.

:::

Their date that night was quiet, thoughtful, but companionable; Richard, for the first time, invited Paul back to his house afterwards.

 

“You know, for coffee,” Richard said, with a brief, but nervous, smile. 

 

Richard knew that by inviting him in for coffee was usually used as a euphemism for other things, things best shared within the realms of a bedroom and beneath the sheets. He half expected Paul to politely refuse, yet the other man easily agreed, with a knowing smile decorating his lips. When they arrived at Richard’s house, Paul followed him into the kitchen, surreptitiously glancing around at the rooms that they passed through.

 

“I really like your place, Reesh,” Paul said, with an appreciative smile. “It’s nice.”

 

“Thanks,” Richard said, in surprise.

 

Whilst the decor was mostly modern, and sparse, it was home to him and he liked it. Every room was decorated in shades of chrome and palest cream, which lent the rooms a fresh, washed clean look that Richard enjoyed. 

 

He busied himself with making the coffee in the percolator whilst Paul sat at the kitchen table and chattered easily. Paul thanked him when finally Richard placed the mug before him, and the earthy smell of fresh coffee filled the entirety of the room with homely aromas. Richard sat across from him and they continued to chat, until they’d finished their mugs and Paul helped to wash them up. 

 

Once they’d finished, Paul immediately, instinctively migrated into Richard's personal space, arms sliding around the other man's waist, mouth soon sliding across Richard's in an almost chaste little kiss. Richard returned it, turned the kiss deeper and more needy. He felt the weight of his own arousal building in his abdomen, bolstered by months of growing attraction to the other man. He opened his mouth, licked his way into Paul’s mouth easily, and felt Paul’s contented, aroused sigh rumbling against him. He broke away and stared at Paul at close range.

 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Richard said. “I’m not gonna force you.”

 

“You’re not forcing me into anything, Reesh.” Paul replied, without dropping his gaze. “I came here, didn’t I? If I didn’t know what was gonna happen, I wouldn’t have come. Usually when people say come in for coffee, they mean something else entirely.”

 

Richard laughed at that and had to concede to Paul’s reasoning.

 

“Okay, so I didn’t force you,” he said, with a relieved smile.

 

“No, you didn’t and you won‘t be,” Paul said, defiantly. “I’m a big boy, Reesh.” 

 

“So I can feel,” Richard said, as he arched one eyebrow and ground his hip against Paul’s crotch.

 

“You know what I mean,” Paul said, even as he laughed. 

 

Richard laughed and leant in for another kiss; Paul responded and the kiss that time was slow, unhurried and filled with dark promises that spoke of silk sheets and long nights spent beneath them.

 

“Just take it slow,” Paul whispered against Richard’s mouth when the kiss ended. 

 

“Hmm,” Richard said, in agreement, before he led the other man into the bedroom.

 

He slowly began to undress, smiling as Paul whistled over the decor in the bedroom. Unlike the rooms downstairs, the bedroom was decorated in dark colours; the walls were a deep, rich burgundy and the bed was covered in black silk sheets.

 

“I like this,” Paul said, as he ran his hands over the silken material covering the bed.

 

“You'll like it even more, when you’re naked,” Richard prompted with a grin. “Paul.”

 

“Okay,” Paul said, with a laugh, even as he began unbuttoning his shirt. 

 

Richard watched the slow slide of Paul's clothing falling from his body, revealing a surprisingly nicely honed body, and a couple of tattoos that he wouldn’t have expected. He closed the distance between them and ran his fingers admiringly over the ink, smiling at the way that Paul shuddered pleasurably beneath his touch and leant into him, obviously responding to him. Richard’s arousal filled the air between them and mingled with Paul’s own; Paul reached up, explored Richard's naked chest with his fingertips, before his touch grew bolder, and the flats of his palms soon pressed warmly against the other man’s sides. Richard then shuddered, eyes closed as Paul continued to touch him, breath deepening beneath Paul’s open caresses. Paul made an appreciative noise when he noticed the bulge in Richard's trousers; Richard felt Paul’s fingers dragging at his belt, pulling the trousers away to reveal the hard line of Richard's erection against the front of his boxers. Paul’s hand skated down, danced across teasingly across his erection and fled away too soon; Richard groaned and cracked his eyes open to glare accusingly at Paul.

 

“Tease,” he said, as Paul stepped away to wriggle out of his own trousers. 

 

Paul’s only response was to grin over his bared shoulder; Richard merely enjoyed the view as Paul’s boxers soon were kicked away to reveal the curved line of the other man’s arse. He closed the distance between them, hands roaming freely over Paul’s body, enjoying every gasp, every aroused moan that fell past Paul’s lips, coupled with the feel of the other man’s erection digging into Richard’s thigh.

 

He walked Paul over to the bed, stopping only once to retrieve lube and condoms from the bedside cabinet, before he slipped beneath the covers to press an open mouthed, wet kiss against Paul’s mouth. Paul responded, easily settling himself onto his back, legs spread in open invitation; Richard settled between them, arousal burning its way through him at Paul’s unspoken submission to him. 

 

He slicked his fingers, and dipped them between Paul's legs; Paul’s expression tightened then relaxed upon first intrusion. Richard was as good as his earlier promise and took it slowly, every movement relaxed and gentle and strung-out, not wanting to rush Paul into anything as well as wanting to enjoy the aroused groans that broke from the other man's chest.

 

Finally, he eased away to roll on a condom; Paul watched him, arousal turning his gaze heavy-lidded and interested, before Richard laid atop the other man. He felt Paul’s arms immediately slide around him, and the other man's heels hike up to rest in the small of his back. Richard leant in to kiss him again, and smiled into it when Paul reciprocated eagerly, arousal thrumming between them. Richard eased away to guide himself slowly into the other man; their groans were deep and instant when first joining. Richard paused, allowed the other man to adjust to the new position, before he began to thrust slowly into the other man, eyes locked with Paul’s as they began to make love. 

 

Paul was responsive, body eagerly arching up into his, hands travelling over Richard's body as Richard began to thrust a little harder and deeper into Paul. Paul didn’t complain; instead, his body responded to every thrust, and in his gaze was a trust that Richard would not have expected yet cherished all the same. 

 

He felt Paul’s hand groping unsteadily between them, and the swift motions of Paul's hand as the other man began to jerk off between them; Richard felt a fresh wash of arousal through him at that and he rolled his hips deeper, harder into Paul, wringing a loud, aroused cry from Paul’s lips. He repeated the motions again, again, again and he came, spilled out with a great cry of Paul’s name, before he felt the hot rush of Paul’s climax spilling between them. He rode out the last of his orgasm, before he eased away, to lay on his back, sated for the moment. Paul leant in, pressed a kiss against Richard's shoulder, before he laid his head against the silken pillows.

 

“Fucking fantastic,” the other man muttered, voice still ragged and broken with his need.

 

Richard huffed out a grunt of agreement. He turned his head and stared at Paul at close range; Paul turned an inquisitive grin upon him when he realised that he was being observed.

 

“I really do love you, you know,” Richard said, with a small, and all too fleeting smile.

 

“I know. Me, too,” Paul said, quietly, but he didn't smile.

 

Instead he stared at Richard with a near-yearning look, eyes wide and soft and wounded. 

 

“Move in with me,” Richard said, on impulse. 

 

Paul looked surprised at that, before he said, - “Don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer, Reesh, but I need some time to think about it.”

 

“Oh,” Richard said, but he couldn't stop the rush of disappointment that washed through him at the seeming rejection.

 

Paul sighed and his expression turned suddenly serious for a moment. 

 

“I’m not saying no, Reesh. I do want to move in, just give me more time,” he said. 

 

“Okay,” Richard said, even as he turned a more hopeful gaze upon Paul.

 

Richard knew had to be content with that for now, knowing that to push Paul would be to scare him away. Paul stared at him earnestly before he nodded and smiled. Richard traced light fingertips over Paul’s chest, feeling the sweat gathering against the pads of them, before he sighed. They remained silent, then, before Richard stood, to make a trip to the bathroom; he brought back a wet towel to clean some of the sticky mess from their bodies. 

 

Paul stayed that night, sleeping beside Richard beneath silken sheets; in the morning, his body was soft and gentle in morning light as Richard slowly made love to him again.

:::

six months later

 

Paul stood outside Richard's house, suitcases scattered around his feet upon the pavement. He stood for a few moments, staring up at the house that had become so familiar to him in the time that he’d been dating Richard. They’d been dating seriously for six months, yet their first meeting had been over a year previously; Paul could hardly believe that the months had passed so quickly. He sighed, as a smile touched the corners of his mouth. 

 

Whilst Richard had not specifically asked Paul to move in with him again after the first failed attempt at it, the offer had still hung between them, warm and inviting and ready for Paul to reach out and grab it if he wanted it. Paul had eventually decided that the time was right; he’d brought the topic up one day whilst they’d walked through the quiet trees that dotted their green way through the Tiergarten. Richard’s hand had been carefully snarled around his; Paul could still remember the way that the cigarette smoke had curled from Richard’s mouth in clouded plumes, to catch the last of the dying light as the sun dipped down to the horizon in a blaze of warm light. 

 

“Reesh?” Paul had asked, nervousness, hesitation clear in his voice.

 

“Hmm?” Richard had asked, from around his cigarette.

 

“”D’you remember how you once asked me to move in with you?” Paul had asked.

 

“I do,” Richard had replied, turning a sudden hopeful glance upon Paul.

 

Paul remembered how glad he’d felt at that, that Richard had remembered; it bolstered his belief that the offer, though given on the spur of the moment, had been a genuine one. 

 

“I’d like to take you up on that offer now, if it still stands,” Paul had said, a little nervously.

 

“Of course it still stands,” Richard had laughed. “I want you living with me, you know that. I want you, Paul.”

 

Paul had laughed in turn at Richard‘s words, and he felt again the rush of relief and pleasure that had coursed through his veins. He felt again the press and brush of Richard’s mouth against his, the firm feel of Richard’s hand upon his back before the other man had nuzzled his nose with his own. Paul remembered how Richard had looked at him, as though he was the only person that mattered, and had then called him gorgeous. 

 

“Are you malingering again, Paulchen? I thought you wanted to move in, today?” Richard huffed as he pulled out a few bags from the back of the removal van, to plonk them down upon the pavement. 

 

“I’m coming,” Paul told him, with a smile.

 

“You will be tonight, multiple times,” Richard said, with a lewd smile over his shoulder as he lugged Paul’s bags inside. 

 

“I’ll make you keep that promise, Reesh,” Paul yelled after him, before he picked up his own suitcases and finally followed Richard inside, to where his new home was waiting.


End file.
